


that we two might be one

by blindmadness



Series: Crossover and AU Adventures [4]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Romance Novel, F/M, Frank does not come off well here, Marriage of Convenience, in case it isn't clear I do not care for Frank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10070324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindmadness/pseuds/blindmadness
Summary: Against all rules of propriety, Miss Claire Beauchamp visits James Fraser, Lord Broch Tuarach, with a scandalous proposition. (A Devil in Winter AU.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU of _Devil in Winter_ by Lisa Kleypas, and I was delighted by the chance to turn _Outlander_ 's marriage-of-convenience trope into an EVEN TROPIER VERSION. :") I made some changes from the original, of course; I couldn't bring myself to put Claire in a situation as bad as the abuse Evie faces in the book, so I fudged with her actual backstory instead. It would probably have made more sense (and been much more dire!) to engage her to Jack Randall, but again, I couldn't bring myself to go there, so a slightly exaggerated version of Frank it is. (Like the tags indicate, I am not a fan of Frank.) There's also the smallest touch of dialogue taken from Jamie and Claire's actual first meeting in here.
> 
> As always when I write stuff based on romance novels, I make zero claims to historical accuracy here. I also decided not to bother with Jamie's accent, for the most part, because I am lazy. >_> You can imagine it still exists a tiny bit here and there, even without transcription! And, of course, I couldn't resist the title.

Jamie Fraser, Lord Broch Tuarach, sets his near-empty glass of brandy down and looks at the woman standing in his parlor, her features illuminated by firelight. Her posture is straight, confident; she doesn’t look at all like someone who’s just risked the complete ruination of her reputation by visiting a man after dark, alone and unchaperoned.

That alone is enough to intrigue him, but he knows enough about her to be even more curious. Miss Claire Beauchamp is an orphan, heir to a large fortune, raised largely outside society by an eccentric scholar uncle, whose passing led her to the guardianship of a respected society family. Unfortunately, all of those years of travel in what Jamie’s heard were less than civilized conditions have made it difficult for her to fit in to society, and despite obvious beauty and a staggering fortune, Miss Claire Beauchamp is a spinster.

As Jamie watches her, the play of flickering light along her fine features and pale skin, the shadows darkening the wild curls of her hair, he honestly can’t imagine why. He’s had very few interactions with the woman—he rarely spends full seasons in London, preferring his family’s home in Scotland—but none of them have revealed any defect of personality strong enough to account for her years on the shelf.

Then again, he thinks wryly, she did come to a gentleman’s house at night, by herself. Surely that in and of itself speaks to a nature that’s well outside the rules governing society.

Best to just bring it up, he thinks; under the circumstances, she can’t be too offended by plain speaking. “Miss Beauchamp,” he says, inclining his head politely. “This is extremely unusual.”

Her mouth gives a sardonic little twist; she must be fully aware that that’s the least he could say about the whole situation. “Lord Broch Tuarach,” she responds, her tone brisk. “I apologize for the irregularity, but it simply couldn’t be helped. I’m in desperate straits, and you may be the only man who can help me.”

Well, Jamie thinks, his eyebrows ascending nearly to his hairline, that’s certainly one way to get a man’s attention.

“Are ye expecting?” His surprise causes his accent, usually well-hidden in the cadences of London society, to emerge in full force, and Miss Beauchamp’s own expression turns shocked.

“What? No!” she exclaims, clearly outraged. “How dare you suggest such a thing? I’ll grant you I haven’t always lived by the dictates of what’s proper, but I’ll have you know that if I—” And she stops in the middle of striding toward Jamie, letting out a little exclamation of surprise. “Oh! You’re injured.” Her anger melts into an expression of sympathy, mixed with something Jamie can’t quite identify—curiosity, perhaps? “I’m sorry. How did it happen?”

Jamie, intrigued by her quick shift from righteous indignation to kind concern, waves it off with his non-dominant hand. It’s been a long and painful day, but he has his doctor’s word it’ll feel better soon. “Dinna fash, Miss Beauchamp. It’s simply out of joint, nothing serious.”

She hesitates, then offers, her tone delicate, “I could—I could take a look at it, if you wanted. I’m sure it hurts terribly, especially if it was poorly set—I learned some things about medicine, when I was traveling with my uncle.”

With every word she says, Jamie is becoming more and more interested in Miss Beauchamp. Beauty, a healthy disregard for the mandates of society, a determination to stand up for herself—and now, an intelligence surely beyond what most women are allowed to express. And compassion, that she would lay hands on him in a far from socially sanctioned way simply to ease his pain.

It occurs to him, of course, that she may just have some sort of plan to compromise him, to trap him into marriage. But already he finds himself far from convinced that this would be the worst outcome in the world.

So he nods, and he sit back down to allow her to lean over him, undo the sling, and pull open his shirt (Jamie tries very hard not to be embarrassed) to look at the injury with a wince. “What did you _do_ to yourself?” She waves it off before he can answer. “Never mind. Hold still.” And with clear effort, she arranges Jamie’s arm into position, then exerts what looks like a tremendous amount of pressure, making him wince in turn—then there’s a soft, crunching pop, and Jamie feels a jolt of rightness, the joint sliding back into place.

He looks up at her in wonder. “It doesna hurt anymore!”

“It will,” she warns him, though there’s a faint smile of satisfaction on her face. “It’ll still be sore, but it should heal more cleanly now, especially if you use it as little as possible. Let me put the sling back on.”

Jamie watches her as she does, fascinated by the brisk efficiency of her touch, the way she winds the sling back onto his arm as if she’s done it a thousand times. He finds himself curious, burningly so, to know everything there is to know about this woman.

“I haven’t given ye the chance to explain why you’re here,” he says, quiet, still unable to school the trace of accent out of his voice. From the slight tension of Miss Beauchamp’s body that he can feel, with her standing this close, he knows she’s heard him, but she doesn’t respond, simply finishes reattaching his sling, then testing it to make sure it holds. Even the most impersonal touch of her hand makes Jamie supremely aware of her, her nearness and her beauty.

She steps back, then, and makes a dismissive gesture as he moves to stand. “No, don’t bother. Let me tell you why I’m here and then you can decide what you’d like to do.”

Jamie inclines his head, welcoming her to keep talking.

Miss Beauchamp smoothes her skirts, then takes a deep breath, stiffening her spine and raising her chin. “You know that I am an orphan—that I was raised by my uncle and that I’ve been in society for two years, in the care of the Randalls, old family friends of my father’s. I have no family of my own anymore, and I’m to inherit a large sum of money when I marry.”

She recounts the events, the bleak facts of her life, briskly and unemotionally; Jamie can’t help a pang of sympathy. He can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for her, torn from her unconventional life with the one member of her family she had left, transplanted into an environment with which she had no familiarity.

And, in all honesty, he’s sure the custody of the Randalls hasn’t helped much. He doesn’t know them well, but he knows many of the rumors and scandals that dog their large family—never past the point of respectability, and never anything anyone can definitively prove, but some of the whispers he’s heard have been damning indeed.

“I have not,” Miss Beauchamp says darkly, confirming Jamie’s suspicions, “enjoyed my time with the Randalls. They’re a manipulative and self-centered lot, and their only interest is in my money. At first they believed they could bully access to it out of me, but it’s locked up tight until I marry, and there’s nothing they can do about it.”

She skates over this point, but Jamie finds his blood boiling anyway. Whatever means they’d used, it doesn’t sound good; it’s unscrupulous at best, to try to remove a young woman’s fortune from her, and could be criminal at worst. 

“They weren’t very happy about that,” Miss Beauchamp says, lightly, which again confirms the direction of Jamie’s thoughts. “But there wasn’t anything they could do. So they came up with another plan: they want me to marry their son, Frank.”

She wrinkles her nose in disdain. “I have no intention of doing so,” she continues, slow and deliberate. “He’s handsome and intelligent, but he has no respect for me as a person rather than a potential wife—a possession—and he’s a philanderer. I don’t believe he intends to stay faithful after marriage, and even if he did—even if he learned to respect and care for me—I would always live under the shadow of the knowledge that he married me to help his family gain access to my fortune.”

Jamie frowns. “Has he told you this?” It seems an unbelievably stupid thing to do when convincing a woman to marry, but the entire situation feels more than a little farcical to begin with.

Miss Beauchamp sighs. “No,” she admits. “He hasn’t mentioned it, and I don’t know if he has the intention of sharing my money with them, if we marry. But even if he doesn’t, he’s very close to them, and—I don’t think I could marry any man under those circumstances. I’d always wonder if he had ever cared about me even a little, or if he’d just married me so his family could have my money. I could never trust him.”

Jamie nods, understanding. “And without trust, there can’t be love. Or a true relationship.”

Miss Beauchamp nods, decisive. “Exactly. So you see why I can’t do it.”

Jamie is beginning to wonder what his role in this current drama is, and he moves to refill his glass of brandy. “Would you like one?” he asks Miss Beauchamp, and he isn’t surprised when she nods, swirling her glass expertly when he passes it to her before sipping and exhaling on a blissful note of satisfaction.

“Very fine stuff,” she tells Jamie in approval, and he gives in to a little smile before fixing her with a serious look over the rim of his glass.

“I understand your predicament, Miss Beauchamp. I even sympathize. But what I still don’t know is why you’re here. What do you want from me?”

Miss Beauchamp hesitates, then steels herself and says, “I want you to marry me.”

Jamie chokes on his brandy.

She continues, clearly either deciding he doesn’t need her help (which he doesn’t; he recovers in a moment from the coughing, though certainly not the surprise) or feeling as if she has to get the proposition out all at once. “I would much rather marry a man of my own choosing than the Randalls’, if I’m not permitted to hold out for a love match. I’ve done my research—your family is in debt, so you could use my money. You’re Scottish, so you could use the English connection. And your reputation is relatively fine; you aren’t known as a rake, so you aren’t likely to stray past the bounds of respectability or cause a scandal.” She smoothes her skirts again, the gesture seeming compulsive by now, and she waits for Jamie’s answer.

Well. He has to admit he didn’t expect this.

He’s inclined to dismiss it out of hand—after all, the situation is absurd. An unmarried young lady coming to a gentleman’s house after dark, propositioning him with marriage? It’s unheard of. Surely something must be wrong here; surely there’s an ulterior motive of some sort.

But Jamie can’t actually bring himself to believe that. The truth is that Miss Beauchamp’s actions are those of a desperate woman, and he has to admire her bravery in taking them. She risks far more than he does; he could ruin her in a moment, and she’s trusting him not to. His instincts are telling him that she’s being honest, and he doesn’t think his conscience would allow him to leave a woman in her situation.

Part of him balks at the idea of a marriage conducted in such a manner; he’s always thought he would marry for love, as his parents did, as his sister did. But the advantages that Miss Beauchamp has mentioned are all true, and the truth is that ever since she set foot into his home, Jamie has liked every single thing about her. She’s beautiful, intelligent, bold, skilled, confident, and articulate. Marriages have started on far less promising grounds.

Part of him can’t believe he’s doing this, but no matter how long he turns it over in his mind, there’s only one possible answer he can give. “Very well—aye. We’ll marry.”

Miss Beauchamp’s entire body slumps in relief, and she closes her eyes briefly. When she opens them, she looks more than a little unsteady, but her gaze is level on Jamie’s. _“Thank you._ I know I’m not—I’ll hardly be the most conventional wife. But I can manage a household and I swear I’ll work hard not to embarrass you in society—and I’ll be true to you. I won’t give anyone cause for gossip.”

It’s an absurd claim to make, of course—Lord Broch Tuarach marrying society’s least popular debutante in haste, without the knowledge or blessing of her foster family, will feed the rumor mills for _months_ —but Jamie’s distracted by the thought of her claim that she’ll be true to him, and the implications there. “We can discuss all of the particulars later,” he murmurs. “I’ll ask you now, though—do you intend for this to be a marriage in name only?”

Miss Beauchamp looks a little embarrassed at that, but she keeps her eyes on Jamie. “I know you’ll need an heir,” she says, steadily. “And I don’t intend to—to deny you—I mean, I don’t—object to engaging in marital relations.” And before Jamie can process that, she adds swiftly, “Will it bother you that I’m not a virgin?”

It’s certainly a surprise to hear, but her life has been so unconventional, Jamie’s hardly too shocked. And besides, he has a retort ready. “It won’t—so long as it doesn’t bother you that I am.” At her wide-eyed reaction, he adds, wry, “One of us should know what they’re doing, I reckon.”

A small, similarly wry smile slips across Miss Beauchamp’s face in return. “Lord Broch Tuarach,” she says, hesitant, and the formality of the situation suddenly seems absurd to Jamie.

“Jamie,” he says. “We’re to be wed—you may as well use my name.”

She nods. “Jamie,” she says, and he finds he likes the way it sounds in her voice. “And—you can call me Claire.”

“Claire,” Jamie repeats, mostly for the pleasure of saying it out loud.

“Jamie,” she says again in turn, and he hopes he isn’t imagining that she seems to enjoy saying it, too. “I hope you’ll indulge a little more impropriety—but I’m afraid that if we have a more… ah, traditional engagement period, the Randalls may try to dissuade one or both of us from engaging in this wedding.”

Jamie is becoming more and more certain that nothing in the world could dissuade him from engaging in this wedding, but he nods, willing to compromise for the sake of her fears. “You want to go to Gretna?”

Miss Beauchamp—Claire—nods. “Tonight, if possible.”

Jamie’s eyes widen. “Tonight?”

A small, sheepish smile flits across Claire’s face. “I understand if you aren’t willing. We could go tomorrow, too. The Randalls will worry when I’m not found tomorrow morning, but I doubt they would think to look here. We would still have a head start.”

But it’s clear that it would make Claire much more comfortable if they were on their way as soon as possible. Jamie wonders if she’ll ever tell him exactly how bad things were with her and the Randalls.

He rubs a hand over his face; the thought of spending the night in a carriage, with his arm still recovering, is hardly a pleasant one. But if he’s going to marry Claire, he wants to do it right: to take on responsibility for her happiness, to grant her wishes whenever possible, to listen to her fears and concerns and do his best to assuage them. And it seems prudent for that to be the note they start on.

“If we go like this,” he tells her, wanting her to know everything before he accedes, “we’ll have to come right back, to make sure your money is taken care of and to make some appearances in society as newlyweds. But then we’ll have to go north again, to my family’s home. I won’t have too much time pass before I introduce them to my new wife, and it’s a grueling journey to make twice in a short time.”

Claire nods, clearly so resolved that the minor inconvenience of a several-days’ journey four times in half as many months doesn’t faze her. Jamie feels another rush of admiration. “I understand. Whatever it takes.”

Jamie nods. “All right, then,” he says, and is rewarded by a brilliant, lovely smile from Claire that he can’t help returning. “Let me pack some things and break the news to my staff.”

“Thank you,” Claire says earnestly, and hesitates before blurting out, “Your family—what will they think, of you marrying like this? Will—will they understand?

Looking at her anxious face, Jamie realizes it must only just be occurring to her that she’s doing more by marrying him than solving a problem—she’s gaining a family, something she hasn’t had in a long time. He knows she doesn’t have to worry on that front, though; if Jenny accepts her, so will everyone else, and he’s certain she and Jenny will get along.

So he nods; he wants to reach for her hand, but it might be a little too soon for that, so he just lets his gaze be as warm as he can make it. “They’ll understand. My sister’s wanted me to marry long enough—she’ll be thrilled to see it happen.” And he lets his expression turn teasing as he adds, “Even if it is to a Sassenach.”


End file.
